


Harry Potter and Turning 30

by rathwynn_grey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Career Change, Ex-Auror Harry Potter, Getting Older, M/M, Mentor Minerva McGonagall, Post-War, Professor Harry Potter, figuring out life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 20:04:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20895356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathwynn_grey/pseuds/rathwynn_grey
Summary: Approaching his 30th birthday, Harry is having an overdue crisis. Unhappy in his job as an Auror, unsure about a fateful letter from McGonagall, and wondering what to do with an empty 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry distracts himself by thinking about none other than Draco Malfoy. No one has heard from him in over a year. What is he up to now?At this crossroads, will Harry choose to move on or be stuck in an unfulfilling present?





	Harry Potter and Turning 30

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a long, long, time coming after being a fanfiction reader for over 10 years.  
I plan on making regular updates since I have quite a bit finished. 
> 
> Thank you to whoever reads!

The cracks in the ceiling in his room at the The Leaky Cauldron shiver as the night-owl upstairs paces. The birds that nest under the open shutters are chirping softly and early morning light is just now streaming onto Harry’s threadbare quilt—a Weasley hand-me-down. It’s early. And Harry has been up for a while, which is fast becoming a normal thing.

Approaching his thirtieth birthday, Harry has found himself thinking quite a bit about Draco Malfoy. Like a fun-house mirror version of his 6th year at Hogwarts, he’s been wondering what Malfoy has been up to. No one has much heard from him the past few years. There are certainly rumors, but.   
Well, Harry still believes that Malfoy could be up to anything.

Hermione says that he is just avoiding thinking about growing older, not to mention the letter from McGonagall she knew was coming that’s sitting on his rickety desk. Harry knows that she also means dealing with 12 Grimmauld Place because she’s given up on bugging him directly. Harry also knows enough about himself, now, at this ripe old age, to know that she’s right.

That’s not stopped him, though.

It’s nearly 5:00am. His alarm, also a gift from Molly, is glowing brighter and brighter. It will clang with an unreasonable amount of bells in a few minutes if Harry doesn’t tap it with his wand. The mornings after sleepless nights, when he doesn’t turn it off promptly, a chorus of shouts come from his fellow boarders. Tonight was also a sleepless night, but he doesn’t have much of a choice this morning. 

It’s inspection day at the Auror office. 

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

“Harry you blasted idiot, open this door!” Ron bellows from behind the heavy, cracked door. The cold floor shocks Harry’s bare feet as he races to stop the noise. 

“Stop that damned racket!”

“It’s 5 in the morning!”

“Keep it down!”

Harry wrenches open the door with Ron’s fist in his face. 

“Official auror business!” Ron shouts back into the empty hallway, hurries past Harry into the room, and begins to pace.

Harry runs his hands over his hair and grabs his trousers from the back of the desk chair. He taps the little alarm with his wand and it turns dark.

“I was just about to get up and head in—I’m not late yet—”

“Harry,” Ron’s still huffing and puffing across the space next to the bed, “Do you know what yesterday was?” 

“Erm. No?” Harry’s wracking his brain, thinking of his walking tour near the Malfoy Mansion. And Diagon Alley, and elsewhere. His muddy shoes are still sitting on the mat next to the door.

“THE INSPECTION,” His bellow sounds eerily close to the howlers from his mother.

Harry blanches. He’s running his hands through his hair, which makes it stand on end again. 

“The inspection.”

“YES.”

“Shit.” Harry sits on the bed.

“Yes, my friend, shit.” Ron’s stopped pacing and sits next to Harry, shuffling his dirty laundry to the other side of the bed. 

“Mate, what on earth is going on with you? I had to make excuses for you yesterday. I couldn’t even get a hold of you. Robards is seriously thinking of,” he nearly whispers, “firing you. You know they don’t want to but…”

“Ron, I…”

Ron clutches Harry’s arm. “You know I haven’t bugged you the way Hermione has. ‘S not really my bag. But this is serious.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” 

“Do you even want this job anymore?” Ron asks quietly.

“I’m...Not sure.” Harry’s heart is pounding. He’s been avoiding this direct question. Hermione asked him last week: her hand over his during a quiet moment at the Burrow while everyone else was playing Quidditch in the garden. 

He didn’t know what to say then. And he doesn’t know how to break it to Ron now.   


Harry stands up, his legs moving seemingly without his permission. His heart is pounding so hard it’s making the room spin a bit. 

“No. No, I do know.” 

Ron looks at him, his mouth drawn tight.

“I’m sorry, Ron.”

Ron nods through several small nods, puts his hands on his knees and gets up, not looking at Harry.

“Come for dinner tonight. Mum gave us a roast for later last time we were there.”

“Er. Yeah. Sounds good.”

Ron gives him one last heavy pat on the back and leaves—just managing not to slam the door.


End file.
